Page 93 of The Maleficent Faerie
We raise our hands as the titanic force of the magic hits us. My head snaps back, power rushing through me until I think I might shatter.
“Up!” I gasp. “Send it up!”
The Caennith Priest has no choice—his hands are locked with ours, he’s part of the chain—and as the four of us face the sky, a column of pure light roars through the circle of our joined hands, screaming upward like a bolt of white fire. It sears straight through the arch of the sky, incinerating the layers of air.
Our hands separate, falling to our sides. The light vanishes, and at the apex of the sky’s arch I see a hole, blacker than shadow.
The crowd’s song fades as the people realize there’s no Surge rolling back through them, no blissful moment of peace or thrilling replenishment of magic. Everything we gathered was shot upward, into the distant Void.
No, not everything.
Green light envelops Malec, licking across his scarred features, gloving his hands, glimmering on his feathers. I can’t see his eyes anymore—just green orbs of flame.
There’s something different about him, though—a glitter of golden magic sprinkled through the emerald fire, threads of pale yellow light twining around his fingers.
“Aura,” he says, in a voice deep, pure, and divine. “Look at yourself.”
I glance down—and my whole skin is alight with a golden glow, threaded with sparking green. I can feel magic inside me—and it’s not borrowed or channeled. It is mine. Because I am a Conduit, married to a Fae King. Our natures, our magic, are shared and augmented by our union before the goddess.
I look up at Malec, grinning. “Fuck, yes.”
He laughs, wild and wicked, emerald flames licking between his teeth.
The Edge-Knights close in around the dais, dozens and dozens of them. Over the past month Fitzell called them in from every border garrison and distant watchtower, and they’re here now, ready to make a last stand for the realm. Each knight produces a shining blade, slices their palm, and lifts the bleeding wound toward the heavens.
The hole in the sky is beginning to close. We have to act quickly.
“Now, Malec,” I prompt him.
He begins to chant. He needs no herald—his voice carries all the power of something eldritch, something divine. I join him, echoing every word.
“Mastery of the arcane, confinement of the abyss. Let me be blind to the light, deaf to the world. Come to me, father of destruction. My bones shall house your infinity, and my mouth will bleed your shadows. I tether you, bind you, pour you into me.”
Screams erupt from the crowd as serpentine coils of darkness poke through the hole in the sky, writhing in, twisting and coiling down toward the city. The High Priestess lifts her hands, and with a voice buoyed by the herald’s magic, she speaks words of explanation, of calm. Throughout the city I’ve sent trusted servants who know my purpose, messengers to explain what we’re doing. The remaining guards of the city move through the crowd as well, calming the panic of the people.
I can’t fret about the city right now—can’t worry about a mob or a frenzied stampede. That responsibility belongs to Fitzell and her soldiers, and to the High Priestess. My role is to be with Malec, to join him in this great work. I can’t let terror overcome me, not even when ice crystallizes my bones at the sight of the darkness descending to feed upon us.
“Your violence shall be mine to tame, and your monsters shall answer my call,” I chant with Malec. “Because I have need of you, Formless One, Endless Depravity. Glorious Abyss, inhabit me. Spill into my soul, split my veins, fracture my heart. Submit to me, reside in me, yield to me. I am the residence of the tempest, the cup of endless wine, the guardian of your greed.”
Malec reaches up, as if to embrace the Void and accept it into himself. I do the same, forcing myself to breathe, breathe, breathe as the darkness rushes in, colliding with the magic of Eonnula inside me.
“You are in charge of it,” Malec shouts to me. “Force it to submit. Shape it, absorb it.” He reaches for me, laces his fingers with mine so our hands are palm to palm.
A jolt of energy passes over me, and suddenly I can see through him, into him—his will and mine are one, his power and mine are one, and we have but one mighty purpose.
Malec has decades of experience creating Endlings. His will dominates the Void, commands it, and shapes it—but I provide the vision of the creature we need—a monster with smoky scales and golden wings, with a maw like an endless chasm and teeth of glittering light.
The creature forms above us, birthed from our minds, tethered to the darkness we’ve channeled—and we keep pulling more of the Void through that hole in the sky, swelling the great dragon larger and larger, until it seems to fill the whole realm.
Malec and I speak together, our voices entwined and echoing with cosmic sovereignty. “Consume the Void. Devour the darkness that craves the absence of life. Protect this realm until the end of time.”
The dragon rears up, wings spread across the world—and then it streaks away, blazing toward the horizon.
Vaguely I hear the roar of the crowd, Malec’s shout of triumph. Dimly I see the hole in the sky sealing itself. Faintly I smile, flushed with the hope that we’ve done it at last. We’ve created not a wall, but a guardian for our world.
I can still feel magic in my bones, in my heart—but it’s faint now. I’ve spent nearly all of it—and whatever my new powers may be, I’m still human.
I struggle to stay on my feet, but my legs wobble, and I fall.
